Roses Are Red, and All That Junk
by Misdreamus
Summary: Valentines Day. Arthur is out drinking with Francis. He admits some things that he'd never tell anyone- much less that stupid frog. K  for language. Short USUK if you squint and France/England as frienemies.


"Screw Valentine's Day, let's get drunk!" Arthur proclaimed groggily as a Frenchman poked his side repeatedly. No way was he getting out of bed, he'd just be depressed. Arthur hadn't spent Valentine's Day with anyone (besides Francis) for years. He had his heart broken too many times to count, and frankly; he didn't really care anymore.

"But _l'amour~_! You need to come outside! The weather is simple extravagant! Ohonhon~" Francis said with a musical tone to his voice. Arthur ignored him and turned over in his bed to face the wall; wrapping the comforter around his head in the process.

"Go away, frog. How did you even get into my flat anyway? No- I don't even wish to know. Just get out and bloody bother someone else. I'm sure Matthew wouldn't mind too much."

Francis sighed. "Alright, _mon ami_; I'll make a deal with you. We'll go to a pub, as you wish. But you're buying~!"

Arthur grunted in response. Stupid French bastard; he knew he'd pull something like this, just to get something free out of Arthur. Nonetheless, he pushed the blanket away from him and pulled on a clean pair of trousers.

"C'mon, you bloke." Arthur grabbed his windbreaker and shut the door just as Francis was about to walk out it.

"_Mon dieu_! Ouch!"

"Bloody wanker. Hurry up."

Francis rubbed his nose with a frown and re-opened the door, following Arthur out of the apartment.

Xxx

"So…why aren't you snoggin' some…blast, what's the name… prostitute or prancin' naked through east Hell, or…w'hat'safunky…" He paused to think, most likely sorting through his vocabulary.

"…Whatever you do on Valentine's Day?" Arthur slurred, obviously way past drunk. Francis himself wasn't even close to losing control; being the designated driver. He also found it amusing to witness Arthur's stories in his drunken stupor.

"Ah, that would be….not important, my dear. And how are you feeling?" In truth, Francis would love to be doing any of those things today. But his dear _Mathieu _had gotten upset with him earlier in the week, and if anyone could silently hold a grudge; it was the Canadian. Francis sometimes wished that he and the fellow French-speaking man could be more than friends, but his cousin Alfred would no doubt kill him for that.

More importantly, Matthew would probably freak out if he asked him something like that. Everyone knew Francis was out of the closet, and he flaunted it. Men and women are both equally beautiful, and some say Francis would do anything with a heartbeat. Which wasn't entirely true; Gilbert had said that Francis would "sex it up with a coffee table" and then proceeded with an extremely strange laugh that got Antonio laughing himself.

The two were nowhere to be found today; Antonio probably pestering his boyfriend Lovino, Gilbert probably pestering anyone who had been unlucky enough to walk paths with him.

"Feel like bloody shit… N'one loves me, this holiday is rubbish, and this ale tastes like bullocks." Arthur scrunched his face and made a childish groaning noise.

"Ah, but _Amerique_ loves you, non?"

Arthur pinked a little at the mention of Francis's nickname for his crush. "Alfred doesn't lov'm…that great oaf is too daft to notice nuthin'…" He slumped forward and held his glass tightly, muttering inaudible words; likely insults on the American.

"But _mon ami_, I think otherwise~. Alfred spends much time with you; perhaps…he's the only one who can put up with you. Besides myself, of course." Francis knew for a fact that Arthur only hung out with him when he was in need of alcohol in his system. They argued too much; and more than once had Arthur proclaimed he hated the other.

"Sh'dup…bloody frog.." Arthur leaned his head on his hand, and surprisingly; started to cry. At first it was a silent stray tear; but his shoulders quivered forwards and he let out a choked sob with added drama from his drunken state. Arthur banged his head on the table and stayed like that, hunched over crying into his sleeve for a few minutes. Francis watched him with pity.

"Now, _Angleterre_, _mon cher; _it's alright. Alfred loves you, and you know it. You're a fine man, if I do say so myself. But nothing will happen if you keep your feelings bottled up and drink them away." Francis patted Arthur's shoulder sympathetically.

Arthur abruptly spun his barstool around, and stood up; swaying slightly on his feet.

"You're right. Im'a go tell 'im…drive me there will you, chap?" Arthur looked at Francis with glazed eyes, slightly drooping with fatigue. Although seeing Arthur confess to Alfred in his state was an amusing idea; he knew it was wrong of him, and would bite him in the _derriere_ later.

"Non, you need to sleep off this alcohol, and then you'll see Alfred tomorrow." Francis looped an arm around Arthur's waist and guided him out and to Arthur's BMW, taking the driver's side after seating the other in the passenger's.

Xxx

"What the fuck? Like the bloody hell I said something like that." Arthur's cheeks were red with anger; at least that's what he convinced himself it was from.

"But you did, my friend. Ohonhon~" Francis held his mobile phone away from his ear when Arthur proceeded with a string of English curse words. Arthur apparently hadn't been able to remember the previous night's conversation at the pub; and denied any feelings for Alfred; though it was already obvious.

"Whatever, frog. I'm hanging up now." Arthur closed his mobile and threw it across the room, it hitting the wall with a thunk.

"Grrr…stupid Francis." Arthur hoped to Queen Elizabeth that he hadn't said anything embarrassing last night. Whether he did or not, it was up to Francis to remember the events. Arthur refused to acknowledge any of it; just in case the Frenchman was testing him.

Arthur sat down on his bed, and his mind wandered to a certain near-sighted, cerulean eyed American. Did he really like Alfred? Maybe Arthur was just lonely and desperate. It's not like it hadn't happened before. But what was the lump in his throat he got every time he saw Alfred's trademark grin? Why did his face get hot and his head rage when Alfred talked to him? Why did his breath catch in his throat when Alfred did something ador-…admiring?

Was he overthinking this? Arthur vigorously shook his head.

"Ugh—fuck it. We all know what's happening." Arthur flopped back on his bed, and covered his face with his hands. He was falling in love with Alfred. There- he admitted it. Arthur groaned when he realized that he not only had to admit it to himself, but for it to matter; he had to tell one more person.

Arthur reached across to his nightstand and groped for the cord phone. Deciding once more that he'd ring him up, Arthur dialed a number he was suddenly glad to have known by heart.

"Hey, git. Are you free today?"

Translations:

L'amour: Love (French)

Mon ami: My friend (French)

Mon dieu: My God (French)

Mathieu: Matthew (French)

Mon amour: My love (French)

Amerique: America (French)

Angleterre, mon cher: England, my dear (French)

Bullocks: Arse/Butt/Ass (British English)

Rubbish: Lame/Sucks/Crappy (British English)

Derriere: Arse/Butt/Ass (French)

Bloke: Dude/man (British English)

Git: Idiot/Fool (British English)

**A/N: Hey people. I know I know, I'm like…2 weeks late with all my stories. I'm the biggest procrastinator ever. But I've got some new ideas for my fics, and hey; waiting longer for a better chapter is better than a space-filler, am I right? So, I wanted to do something for Valentine's Day. I know it kind of sucks, and it's not romantic at all. But that's England for ya. :D Review? Thanks. **


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